


ugly crier

by viiisenya



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Crying, ESPECIALLY tobirama, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hashirama is dead, One Shot, also tobirama with tsunade? priceless, i have a lot of love in my heart for the Senju brothers, nothing is sweeter than their relationship n no one can convince me otherwise, sort of like a personality exploration of tobirama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viiisenya/pseuds/viiisenya
Summary: His brother had once jokingly told him he was an ugly crier.Or, the one-shot in which Tobirama deals with the fact that hisani-jais actually gone.





	ugly crier

**Author's Note:**

> i got drunk one night, came back to my room, saw that i had drawn [this](http://viiisenya.tumblr.com/post/172488703985/missing-his-brother-hits-him-harder-some-days-than) and cried about how much i love tobirama. mostly inspired by this [comic](http://viiisenya.tumblr.com/post/171702987615/shodai-artist-x-im) i saw on tumblr. i am not japanese and am very unfamiliar with their honorifics, but i did do a bit of research and Tobirama did refer to Hashi as _ani-ja_ , and i did a little research behind _sofu_ and followed another user's lead in using it. apologies if they're used incorrectly. 
> 
> enjoy-

He does not cry when they tell him. Does not cry at all.

 _Ani-ja_ had once jokingly told him he was an ugly crier, all red eyes and snot running down his face. There was no ill-intent behind the words nor in his voice, only an attempt to stop the crying through sibling teasing. His brother had contorted his face in order to illustrate just how ridiculous he had looked, mushing his cheeks in a clever way to wipe away his tears. His brother was always joking, always attempting to make him laugh no matter the situation. He had met  _ani-ja's_  lighthearted taunts with defense, but his crying had stopped only to turn into laughter when his brother moved to pinch the ticklish spot just beneath his ribs.

That must have been before Ita and Kawara, he thinks, when it was just the two of them. Before anybody called him _ani-ja_ ; when there was the one and only _ani-ja_. He never cries again after that single joke.

“I’ve lost two brothers before,” he tells everyone in his steady tone despite the fact that no one is voicing concern or judgement over his lack of tears. “This is nothing.”

Except that it is _everything._ He has never known a life without _ani-ja_. His brother’s boisterous personality and booming laughter had been there his entire life. Since his birth, he had only known his brother’s toothy grin and good-natured teasing. A firm grip on his shoulder and a mocking slap to the back, a constant reassurance of good things to come. His brother was a mountain made of amiability and endless hope for the best; an optimist with a heart forged from gold. Unshakeable, and strong. The God of Shinobi, people called him. God meant eternal; and the little boy in him believed it. He’s never thought once that his brother would leave him.

But, he did. 

He has lost two brothers before and a mother and then a father, until it was just him and his older brother. It had been that way forever; him and his older brother, always together and never far apart. Not ever apart for too long, at least. Ita and Kawara came after he did, them knowing him their entire lives but him only knowing them for a fraction of his own. He knew _ani-ja_ all his life.

They had built a great place together, him and his brother. They disagreed as brothers should; the older often too trusting of those around them, and the younger too practical and stern to take things lightly. But they had done it, for the sake of peace and their family; for Tsuna and her generation to come. She was not his grandchild, but he loved her fiercely like the daughter he himself would never have even if he did not show it the same way _ani-ja_ did.  His brother had always been better at expressing, anyways.

His brother had been more forgiving and patient, with the ability to calm a storm before thunder fell (even if he was the one who tamed the sword of the Thunder God). He acted as the voice of reason for his brother when he had gotten too lenient and unrealistic, but in truth, he wished he could have been more like him. He wished he could be as impulsive as his older brother had been, bringing laughter and joy to every room he walked into. It was his brother’s optimism and steadfast belief in the good of others that forged the Will of Fire. 

He wishes he was more like his brother, never suspicious of others and always so high-spirited. He wishes his brother had stayed just a little longer, in order to realize the greatness he often overlooked and undermined. He loved ( _loves_ ) his brother but hated his humility and ease at dismissing his worth as a shinobi, as a friend, as a _person_. He looked up to his brother in the same way he has looked up at the Valley of the End, even if he was the one who often brought his brother down from his sky-high follies. He wishes his brother had stayed just a little longer, so that he could once more insist ( _tell_ him) that he is great, amazing, spectacular and that he should not let others walk all over him so easily.

He wishes his brother had stayed just a little longer.

Mito cries; strong, iron-willed Mito cries despite her efforts to stay poised and composed. He does not remember a time he has seen Mito cry, if she has even cried at all since her marriage into their family. If his brother had been strong, it is Mito who is _stronger,_ as the women often always are. She had sealed the Kyuubi into herself, enduring the relentless pain and hatred without complaint or tears. There were never tears form Mito; though, there may have been a few when Tsuna was born (he could not remember).

(But, he could remember clear as day his brother’s wailing that matched Tsuna’s after she took her first breath.)

But, still, Mito cries against his shoulder as he holds her stiffly. It is the only thing he can do, unable to string words together to ease her pain. He is not rude, but his words are blunt, and often lacking the cushion and softness some people needed in times of pain. (It was a quality that his brother had, being able to mend wounds with delicate tones and carefully threaded words.) He begins wondering whether the fact that he has never seen Mito cry is because his brother had often made her laugh and laugh and laugh. There were no room for tears when his brother was present to make everybody laugh. But his brother had left an empty space that could only be filled with _his_ effortless humor and trite pranks. He is unable to make people laugh on command the same way _ani-ja_ had. 

So he holds his sister-in-law, his brother’s wife. This is the best he can offer. 

Tsuna is just old enough to understand, and when the finality of his brother’s passing finally comes into her peripheral of realization, she sobs. She sobs and sobs and sobs, to the point that nobody is able to tame the waves of grief. Mito tries, but is forced to tears herself when confronted with the little princess. Her mother tries, but she does not listen, cannot hear through the sadness.

He understands. He knows. He does not cry, but it does not mean he does not know. So, he tries to calm Tsuna-hime (his brother’s pride and joy), to soothe her from the pain (that shakes him to his core as well). 

When he drops to one knee in front of her so that they are at eye level, she pauses her crying to stare at him with big eyes lined in red. They are his brother’s eyes, full of hope and laughter and a spark that will undoubtedly become the Will of Fire when the fog of grief passes.

He is not his brother. He does not indulge his grandniece the same way his brother had, spoiling her rotten. Though, as he thinks, no matter how much spoiling Tsuna has been subjected to, she will never become so rotten. She is sweet and bold and smart, _so_ smart. She knows that he is not like her _sofu,_ lacking a booming voice that sang and joked, and magic hands that could produce candy out of thin air. She knows that he does not do as well with tears as her _sofu_ had. So, her crying is paused for just a moment as she reaches out a tentative hand to grab a tuft of white fur on his collar.

(He thinks that perhaps overcoming grief is a war and that is why he is wearing his armor. Wearing his armor makes him feel stronger.)

“ _Sofu_ is gone.”

It is both a statement and a question the way she says it, very quietly. He nods, smoothing the stray hairs out of her face with his thumb. 

“No more tears, Tsuna,” he tells her quietly. Her bottom lip quivers as she stares at him with watery eyes.

It reminds him of the way _ani-ja_ had cried when they found Ita slaughtered. Wartime had made him cold and closed off, restraining his emotions at such a young age despite the sharp pain in his chest. It was for the sake of winning battles and ending wars that he built up his walls so high to keep the floods of grief and love and sadness and happiness and everything in between from bursting forth. _Ani-ja_ had no such walls, and allowed himself to cry as they scraped together enough time to mourn the loss of another brother. He had bit the inside of his cheek so hard to keep himself composed that he could still remember the bitterness and blood in every breath he took as he watched them burn his brother.

He remembers crying himself to sleep the night they burned Ita, crying in the peace of his cot away from the hard eyes of their father and the watchful eyes of their clan. He had cried enough that night that when the next day came, he had been smoothed over like a stone and ready for the next battle. He was known as the stern second son, the fierce and levelheaded, opposite to the first son, who sobbed openly for all to see. _Ani-ja_ wore his heart proudly on his sleeve, something that their father reprimanded him for so often. He could remember all the times he had stepped in between _ani-ja_ and their father, shielding his elder brother with his body and a hard glare from a physical scolding.

Their father had thought _ani-ja_ a fool for his openness to emotional expression, but what their father had not lived long enough to see was that it was _ani-ja_ ’ _s_ compassion that ended the war and served as a foundation for their times of peace.

But, their father has been long dead and he thinks now perhaps it will be _ani-ja_ that tells him of their victories.

“ _Ooji,_ ” Tsuna prods him in a feeble voice, tugging on the fur. “Don’t you miss _sofu_?”

“I do.” He does.

“Why don't you cry then?” She asks, her wobbly voice laced with a child’s curiosity. “ _Sobo_ cries and _kaa-san_ too.”

“He would not want me to cry,” he says carefully, each word measured precisely. “Just as much as he would not want you to, or _sobo,_ or _kaa-san_ either.” 

Tsuna is smart and he watches as she processes this, the understanding drawing across her face the same way he has watched dawn draw across the horizon.

“There is strength in crying,” he continues, thinking of _ani-ja_ as he brushes the droplets from her face, “but, greater strength in enduring. He would want you to live through the pain, and to grow stronger from it.”

He says it for himself as much as he says it for Tsuna while she stares at him.

“You have cried enough, Tsuna,” he says softly. “He would not want to see any more tears from you, but instead to see you grow strong so that you may laugh as loud as he did. And gamble, too.” His voice is gentle as he presses a finger to the ticklish spot beneath her rib.

Tsuna’s laugh carries through the room and she rubs her eyes, completely overturned by the words. She knows, and understands, and when she throws her arms around his neck, he can sense Mito at the door. He squeezes his grandniece in a tight hug and presses a kiss to her temple.

“You are strong, Tsuna,” he says. It is a declaration and a reminder. “Only grow stronger.”

She nods against the fur and he makes a note to hug her more often, for his brother that cannot anymore.

(It isn’t until the second time he is brought back to this world that he realizes Tsuna has taken his words literally. The diamond on her forehead and the devastation at her feet are awe-inducing, and he learns that there is no one stronger than her but the student she herself raised from the ground up. He learns that she wears the Senju name in spirit, strength, and stature; and he thinks he is proud beyond measure, but it is _ani-ja_ whose pride outshines even the sun.)

The village cries, as a family should after losing a father-head. He has been Hokage for a handful of years now, but the robes feel especially heavy on his back. Konohagakure is a sea of black, eerily silent even as rain falls mercilessly from the heavens.

He is speaking loudly but cannot hear his own voice despite the rumble he feels in his chest. The corner of his mouth twitches and he knows what that entails, prompting him to pause and take in a sharp breath. The people wait, with bated breath for what they expect is coming, but it does not come. He looks over at Mito, whose head is held high and accepts the rain that rolls down her face. She holds Tsuna’s hand and he catches her eyes briefly. She has cried only a little, but holds her ground fiercely against the forlorn and somber ceremony. She juts her chin out slightly at him, and he does the same. He takes another breath and steadies himself. Not here, not now, he thinks.

They light the fire and the crying of the village continues in tandem with the rain. He thinks that he can hear his brother’s laughter in the crackle of the burning wood. 

He does not cry when they tell him. Does not cry at all. 

He does not cry in front of his people, the family that he and his _ani-ja_ brought together under their protection. He does not cry in front of his _actual_ family, made from blood and bond, despite the comfort and acceptance they offer him. 

He does not cry until he is alone, free of his armor and the Hokage robes, standing in his (brother’s) office. He takes a step forward and feels his body shift through time and space as he is taken to the place they have buried the ashes (a place he has already touched and marked but has yet to spend more than a breath’s time).

The headstone is as tall as _ani-ja_ was, glossy granite that would blend into the night if not for the moon’s light glittering off its surface. The leaf of their village is carved proudly at the center, then the Senju crest beneath it, just as _ani-ja_ had requested jokingly so many years before. He stares absently at the grave and feels his shoulders drop.

He does not cry until everything hits him all at once. His body trembles with every shaky breath he sucks in as he lets the tears fall unabashed down his face, fists clenched at his side. Walls forged long ago come crumbling down at the touch of grief and confusion as a sob racks him, as he tries to calm himself.

He has lost brothers before, and he is now a man grown—hardened by war and disciplined by his duty to his people. He should not be crying. He knows that there is strength in crying, strength in showing raw emotion, but he has forgotten what it is like to be so unrestrained and he should not be crying but he _is._ Death is inevitable, even for the God of Shinobi who was but just a man in truth. Nobody escapes death’s grasp, he knows this and knows that it will come for him too someday. He knows, rationally and realistically, that he is allowed to grieve but he does not want to feel so pained and empty and sad. He misses his brother, misses _ani-ja’s_ presence that was once constant and unwavering.

He does not cry until he is a little boy again, sniffling loudly in hopes that his _ani-ja_ would appear, and slap him on the back just to laugh and tell him that he is an ugly crier.


End file.
